


hold me, lover (so tight i'd bruise you)

by a_static_world



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: !!!!, Both of them, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Merlin (Merlin), Pining Arthur, Touch-Starved, Uther Pendragon's A+ Parenting (Merlin), because let's face it, cue eye rolls across the board, homesick merlin :(, they're idiots!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:55:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28683654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_static_world/pseuds/a_static_world
Summary: Merlin’s a tactile person. He can’t help it; it’s merely how he was raised. He’s used to falling asleep to his mother running soft fingers through his hair, slinging his arms around Will whenever he pleases. It’s simply the way things are in Ealdor: the village is small, its people close-knit and affectionate.To say Camelot has been a culture shock is an understatement.
Relationships: Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 43
Kudos: 509





	hold me, lover (so tight i'd bruise you)

**Author's Note:**

> title from [wild blue yonder](https://open.spotify.com/track/5xeUo7hCIiSubAcnQApPpC) by the amazing devil!

Merlin’s a tactile person. He can’t help it; it’s merely how he was raised. He’s used to falling asleep to his mother running soft fingers through his hair, slinging his arms around Will whenever he pleases. It’s simply the way things are in Ealdor: the village is small, its people close-knit and affectionate. Merlin smiles, remembering the way the elderly Sir Eoin would ruffle his hair, even long after Merlin had grown taller than the rheumatic old knight.

To say Camelot has been a culture shock is an understatement.

In Camelot, there are no casual touches. One does not lean on another servant in the dining hall, nor nudge a kitchenmaid after a witty remark. Everyone keeps to themselves, elbows tucked and guards up. Merlin learns quickly to throw his own guard up, these first few months. The first time Gaius pats him on the hand, he nearly bursts into tears. 

Fortunately, Camelot is also busy. There’s not much to be done that Merlin isn’t doing, thanks to the Head Prat in Charge. He’s not so bad, honestly. Just a bit chilly, and far too used to getting his way. Merlin challenges that in every way he can, goading the other man out of his shell. Along with learning to make eggs wrong six different ways, Merlin also grows proficient at dodging flying crockery. 

So yes, day-to-day life is slightly lonely, and far too busy for his liking. Merlin frets and stresses and worries, and saves Arthur’s life in a million little mundane ways, and the prince even saves his, once or twice. They dance around each other, living their separate lives within each other’s space. Circling, like wary housecats, neither quite sure about the other. Not yet, at least. If that bastard fucking dragon has got anything right, even  _ minutely _ , it’s the fact that there seems to be an undeniable tug in Merlin’s gut towards the prince.

He wonders if it’s a side effect of the magic, or whether Arthur can feel it too. Wonders because sometimes the prince stands too close, brushes their knuckles or shoulders or hips together without looking at him. Other times Merlin can  _ feel  _ Arthur’s eyes, tracking him through busy kitchens or crowded banquet halls, restless until Merlin is back at his side. It’s attention he doesn’t mind in the slightest, though rather unfortunate as he tries to shove down his budding warmth for the entitled prat.

Anyways, it’s not like it’ll amount to anything. 

Today is a...Tuesday, perhaps, and it starts like any other Tuesday. Merlin rouses a very naked prince, focuses on putting breakfast on the table as said prince wiggles into his braies. Then Merlin must dress Arthur, avoid brushing his skin with his fingertips because every time he does there’s a tingling of  _ more _ , and he can’t be seen jumping out of his skin every time he does his fucking job. He stands in the corner as Arthur eats, reporting on the morning movements of the castle and accepting his chores with only minimal groaning. Minimal because there’s something off-color about Arthur this morning, and Merlin can’t quite put his finger on it. Oh, well. Arthur’s off with only half his breakfast eaten, which means Merlin gets to steal his scone on the way out. A fairly good start to what may or may not be a Tuesday, all things accounted for. 

Merlin finishes his chores without seeing Arthur, which is doubly strange. Usually the king-in-training is bustling around the castle, talking to some courtier or other, or practicing on the grounds in full view of the stables.  _ Working, unlike you _ , and Merlin’s nose wrinkles as Arthur’s voice echoes in his head. His worries soon dissipate, however, when he encounters the absolute travesty that is the prince’s laundry. Half of it is moth-eaten, the other half threadbare and nearly see-through. Merlin sighs, attempts to pack down the rising fondness in his chest, and gets to work sorting. 

It’s dark by the time Arthur crashes back into his room. Merlin’s had the laundry sorted and sent to various places in the castle, eaten his own lunch, and set to work on organizing the rest of Arthur’s room for the fifth time in the past three months when he does. His head snaps up in alarm as the prince slams the door, an outburst usually reserved for the training grounds. Merlin stands from where he’s been crouching, wiping the dust off his hands as he turns to face Arthur. 

Arthur who’s got his hands braced on the mantle, head hung above the dark hearth where Merlin had meant to start a fire an hour ago. Merlin, unthinking, places a hand on the other man’s shoulder, tries not to think about the way Arthur’s muscles flex under his fingers, warm and solid through his doublet.  _ Shit _ , right, his doublet,  _ do your job _ . Merlin pushes at Arthur’s shoulder until they’re facing each other, the prince’s face flatly, unnaturally calm. Merlin’s fingers undo the doublet with ease, though where Arthur would usually take it off and hand it to him, Merlin finds himself sliding the worn velvet off his shoulders, gently pulling at the cuffs until the damned thing is off.

It’s like he’s pulled Arthur’s skin off.  _ Gross, wait, no, not quite. _ It’s just...a different level of exposure. Arthur feels raw and bare, standing like a strong draft would blow him over. Merlin’s jaw clenches. Arthur was scheduled to have his “training” with Uther today. He folds the doublet, taking extra care to put it away neatly. Arthur’s eyes track him the whole time, silent as Merlin pushes him gently aside to get the fire started. It’s a strange feeling, almost like the man is deferring to Merlin, his silence and inaction prompting Merlin to fill the space with his own actions. Still, as always, he seems to be waiting for Merlin to make his way back to his side. 

When he’s done with the doublet, the fire, and turning down Arthur’s bedsheets, Merlin turns to him, meets his gaze. Arthur doesn’t look away, pinning Merlin to the spot. There’s a fury in his eyes, along with something unnameable that’s gone too quickly for Merlin to decipher. He blinks and the intensity flickers out, replaced with a wash of aching world-weariness. To have the fate of your world on your shoulders…it’s a struggle Merlin knows all too well. Before he realizes, he’s across the room, folding Arthur into a hug.

Merlin’s never been good with boundaries, especially in a place like Camelot, but he seems to have read the situation correctly, for once. Arthur’s arms twine around his waist, squeezing back with a force that punches the air out of Merlin’s lungs. In any other situation, well. Merlin pushes  _ those  _ thoughts out of his head, focuses on grounding Arthur. When he was younger, his mother would stroke his hair, so he does the same to Arthur, reaching tentative fingers towards the back of his skull. 

To his surprise, Arthur sighs into the touch, letting his forehead drop onto Merlin’s shoulder. All the tension bleeds from his body, his arms slackening (but not dropping) on Merlin’s waist. Merlin continues stroking Arthur’s hair, running his fingers through slowly, smoothing it back from his forehead, tucking stray strands behind his ears. After a while, Arthur’s thumbs start sweeping along the small of Merlin’s back, a small, reciprocal touch that has his heart leaping into his throat. 

An indeterminate amount of time passes before Merlin realizes that Arthur’s likely even  _ more _ starved for touch than himself. That this may be the first time Arthur’s been hugged since he was a  _ child _ . So, naturally, Merlin holds him a little tighter, puts a little more intent into petting his hair. They stay that way, Merlin rocking them slightly, Arthur all but boneless in his arms. As his legs begin to go numb, however, Merlin reluctantly pulls his hand from Arthur’s hair, uses it to tip the other man’s chin up. 

“Bed, yeah?”

They’re the first words he’s spoken in hours, and they come out harsh and rusty in the still air. Arthur nods, moves out of Merlin’s space to undress. Merlin averts his eyes, pokes at the fire for something to do. Arthur clears his throat, and Merlin turns to find him wearing a threadbare shirt that he must’ve missed earlier, along with a pair of loose pants cropped at the knee. Strange; the prince usually sleeps naked. Maybe he’s just waiting for Merlin to leave, spare him some embarrassment should Arthur feel off about their hug.

“Alright, well, um, goodnight, Arthur.”

Merlin doesn’t realize how close they are until Arthur grabs his hand.

“Stay?”

_ Fucking hell, holy shit. _ Merlin nods, numb, and allows Arthur to tug him toward the bed. It’s oceans softer than his bed in Gaius’ quarters, and Merlin just barely remembers to shuck off his boots before sliding himself between too-soft blankets. Arthur shifts close, throwing an arm across Merlin’s stomach and burying his face in his shoulder. He hums and settles and is asleep within three minutes, the lucky bastard. Merlin’s wide fucking awake, every point of contact between himself and Arthur humming with a prickly sort of energy. 

It’s the most touch he’s had since he left Ealdor, and he can’t even get himself comfortable.  _ Maybe it’s because all your muscles are tense, idiot.  _ Merlin breathes through his nose, forces the tension out of his body, and allows himself to touch Arthur back. He rests his arm over the one on his stomach, turns his head so that his nose presses gently into Arthur’s hair. The buzzing feeling quiets, settles into a pleasant warmth as Merlin finally ( _ finally _ ) falls asleep. 

He wakes the next morning in nearly the exact position he fell asleep. The only difference is at some point he turned toward Arthur, so they’re face-to-face, arms slung over each other’s hips. Despite the sudden intimacy - or perhaps because of it, - Merlin can’t remember sleeping this well since he left home. Arthur’s still asleep, which is unsurprising; the man could sleep through a siege on the castle and come out well-rested on the other side. Merlin allows himself a few extra moments, basking in the weight of Arthur’s arm on his waist and the warmth of the bed.

When he does try to slink away, however, Arthur’s grip tightens. Merlin goes still, fearing the worst.  _ Was he drunk, will he sack you, please don’t let this be a mistake. _ Arthur’s thumb strokes his side, lazy and slow as the man wakes up. Merlin struggles to sit, laughing softly as Arthur grumbles.

“Good morning, sire.”

Arthur grumbles again, cracking an eye open to look at Merlin. He looks less tired than yesterday, less like the world is crushing him into dust at the behest of his father. Merlin scratches his fingers through Arthur’s hair on reflex, and he knows if there were anyone else in the room, Arthur would’ve snatched it away. But for now it’s just them, hiding their loneliness and pain and strife under the covers, feet oh-so-nearly tangled together. 

Arthur grabs Merlin’s wrist, shaking him out of his thoughts. He brings it down to his mouth, presses a soft kiss into Merlin’s palm and  _ oh _ , when did it get so hot in here, and Arthur merely smirks and does it again. 

“You’ll be sleeping here from now on,  _ Mer _ lin. That is, if you want to.”

Arthur’s princely airs drop, and for a second he’s a man just as Merlin is, insecure and hopeful. 

If Merlin kisses him, and if Arthur reciprocates with far too much enthusiasm for the amount of morning breath they both have, well. That’s their business.

“Of course,  _ sire _ . It’s only proper, probably.”

Arthur snorts, falling back across Merlin’s lap and stretching. They dress, make their way through their days as usual, albeit with a few more glances and furtive touches. Gaius doesn’t ask where Merlin was last night, and merely raises an eyebrow as he not-so-subtly begins moving his things out of the physician’s spare room. If Merlin gave him the time, he’d likely quip about how wonderful it is that Merlin’s  _ finally  _ taking his duties seriously. He doesn’t, because Merlin’s whisking out of his rooms with an armful of pillows before he can. He almost collides head-on with Arthur in the hall, and the prince switches course to fall in step with him.

“Ah, Merlin! Allow me to escort you. The castle is full of, erm, dangers.”

“Right,  _ dangers _ . Lead the way, your highness.” Merlin snorts. 

Perhaps Camelot isn’t as lonely as he first thought.

**Author's Note:**

> well howdy,,, how's everyone doing?  
> i'm so touch-starved that i auto-projected onto merlin and now! here we are! (special thanks to [schweet_heart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/schweet_heart/pseuds/schweet_heart) for motivating me to finish this!)  
> i have been listening to an endless loop of the amazing devil's music; check out my [tumblr](https://astaticworld.tumblr.com/) for my incoherent babbling, or for a chat should you need it!  
> as always, the pandemic is not over! stay safe, stay hydrated, and try to find the beauty in everyday life.  
> xoxo,  
> static


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